


road to nowhere

by thehairblairbunch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Americana, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Road Trips, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehairblairbunch/pseuds/thehairblairbunch
Summary: Hot sun bearing down on them, sky above like a blue Sahara and sex with Dean Winchester on the side of Interstate 40.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 65





	road to nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> this is just 2k words of sex, schmoopy stuff and my longing for "the big american roadtrip" bc that's how i cope with the show coming to an end i guess?
> 
> title is from [road to nowhere](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQiOA7euaYA) by talking heads, which bears little relation to this fic, but it's what i was listening to whilst writing.

‘Legs, sweetheart.’ Dean’s voice comes deep and gravelly. Castiel obeys, spreading his thighs further against the Impala’s chrome hood, sticky with sweat and spilt Coca Cola. Dean makes a pleased hum, settling himself into the v of his stretched legs and kissing him. He tastes like the onion rings they shared for lunch but Castiel kisses open-mouthed anyway, sharing spit like their shirts and toothbrushes and underwear this past month.

‘Mmmf,’ Castiel protests as Dean breaks away, but Dean only trails down the line of Castiel’s torso, settling onto his knees and pulling out a packet of lube for the third time that day. First time was at the motel, where they ignored the lotion Dean had for the real McCoy, and the second time was in the car, where Dean fingered himself still in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other knuckle-deep in his ass. 

And now, Dean tears open the foil with his teeth, sharp and white in the daylight, teeth that Castiel would quite like to cut himself on.

‘Hurry up,’ he demands. Dean takes his time tearing the packet all the way through, spitting the garbage onto the road. 

‘Ain’t no rush, Cas.’

‘The road, people could see, hurry up.’ There’s no one near, but Castiel feels eyes on him anyway, and not just Dean’s. 

‘Weren’t bothered ‘bout an audience that time near Sapulpa.’ Dean’s breath comes hot against his groin. ‘I ate you out just outta town, and all these truckers kept on coming by, gawkin’.’ The first touch of cool lube has Castiel gasping. ‘Think you’re just desperate, baby.’

Dean’s fingers circle his rim, spreading rapidly warming lube messily. Castiel’s cock is leaking against his tee because he’s still got it on and he takes it off, throwing it somewhere, AC/DC-adorned fabric against the black car.

‘Yeah, I’m desperate,’ he agrees. ‘Please, Dean, I need it,’

‘Love it when you get slutty,’ Dean says like Castiel didn’t have him tied up in their motel room a couple of nights ago. Like having sex on the side of the I-40 isn’t slutty as long as you’re the one giving it.

‘But we’ve been slutty this past mont — oh!’ Castiel’s voice hitches as Dean presses his index into his hole, slow and oil-slick. There’s the stretch, the pull, the initial burn, but Dean’s finger soon crooks its way home, leaving Castiel moaning, against the too-hot metal of the Impala. Another finger and they twist deliciously inside of him, Dean red-cheeked and glowing from the heat, shirt off like it’s been most of July, revealing miles of tanned and sunburnt skin. Scars crisscross his torso, a gauge across his left pec and Castiel wants to lick them clean, although they’ve been healed for years now, tongue laving roughly until the wounds are red and clear.

‘I’m gonna add another,’ Dean tells him, making a swirly motion inside his ass.

‘Do it, please.’

The please makes Dean grin rakishly before he drags a third finger through the mess around Castiel’s hole, pressing into his ass with an obscene squelch. The stretch makes him moan. Dean's hands are large; his fingers are long. Castiel loves it.

‘Do that swirly thing again,’ Castiel tells him.

‘Getting a little big for your boots there,’ Dean says, but complies, gripping Castiel’s dick with his other hand. Castiel moans, back arching, catlike. ‘Don’t even need lube to jack you, Cas, you’re leakin’ so pretty for me.’

‘Would you shut up with the porno lines already,’ Castiel gets out. ‘And wank me properly, or why bother?’

‘Too damn sassy for your own good.’ Dean slides his hand down Castiel’s cock, flicking over the head with a calloused thumb, stretching his neck to swallow Castiel's noises with his mouth. Onions, and sweat, and both their arousal reflected in their shared spit. 

We need to brush our teeth, Castiel thinks. Preferably sometime this week.

‘Where’s the dental floss?’

‘If you’re getting pissy about oral hygiene now this ain’t gonna work, you and us.’

The slide of Dean’s fingers in and out of his ass, globs of lube trailing down his thighs. Castiel moans, head falling back, sun in his eyes.

‘You’re going to get cavities.’ 

‘I’ll show you cavities, dollface.’ 

Dean drags his fingers from Castiel’s hole, only to add his fourth, the hand that was on his cock now at his nipples, tweaking them to redness.

‘Oh, Dean!’

‘How’s this for cavities?’

‘What does that mean?’ Castiel groans, gripping the edge of the car, white-knuckled. 

‘I dunno. Cavity search, maybe.’

‘Be more mature.’

‘Be more mature? I’ve got four fingers up your ass in fuckin’ Bumfuck, Oklahoma and you’re telling me to be more mature.’ 

Dean’s been avoiding his prostate purposefully all this time, but as he says his sentence he hits Castiel’s sweet spot and pinches his left nipple hard, Castiel crying out loudly for the first time.

‘You asshole.’

‘You love me.’ And it’s true, he does, and Dean knows it, green eyes glinting playfully in the sun, grinning debonair across his face. 

‘Oh no, you’re ego’s big enough as it is.’ Castiel’s voice comes out shaky, he’s so hard, his hole aches for something deeper.

‘Ain’t the only thing that’s big, sweetheart.’

Castiel rolls his eyes, but he isn’t sure how much of that is voluntary and how much is due to Dean pressing his prostate again.

‘I’ll forgive that joke if you fuck me right now.’

‘Fair enough,’ Dean agrees, and he’s so pretty, he may be about to fuck Castiel but he’s so damn pretty, long neck and broad shoulders and face freckled to potential skin cancer, if not for all the sunblock Castiel makes him put on. 

The slide of Dean’s fingers from his ass makes him keen, and Dean drags it out, slow, lube dribbling from his hole and onto poor Baby. Dean will use all their bottled water cleaning the car, knowing him. 

‘Dean, please.’

‘Decided to be polite now?’

‘Just fuck me!'

Dean presses the hand that was in his ass to his lips and he opens them anyway, letting him spread his spit over the fingers, tasting the lube.

‘Cherry flavour?’

‘Yeah, sweet cherry pie.'

‘Bourgeois.’

‘I don’t know what that means,’ Dean says confidently, ‘but is it some kind of sex thing?’

‘They are fucking the rest of us,’ Castiel concedes. ‘Now, enough of this witty banter, get to it.’

‘Yessir,’ Dean says, the hand that was on Castiel’s chest mock-saluting him, other hand smearing Castiel’s spit around his cock, red and thick and veiny, his jeans around his knees. No boxers insight because they’ve run out of clean underwear and even turning them inside out doesn’t cut it any more, and God, they’ve dragged this thing out long enough.

‘Dean,’ he begs, and he is begging now, properly, 'just fuck me please, please.’

‘Yeah, okay, darlin’, hold on.’

Then Dean stands up, kicking off those awful bootcut jeans, barefoot because fuck beat-up sneakers, it’s too hot, and pulls Castiel closer, sweaty and terrible and just right.

And then he slides home, deep, fast, everything good with the whole godforsaken fucking world.

‘Dean!’ 

Dean grunts in response, withdrawing until only the head of his cock is in Castiel and slamming back in again. Castiel howls, feeling so full, so hot, he can’t fucking take it, he needs more.

‘More, Dean, please!’

‘Fuckin’ insatiable,’ Dean gets out, fingers splayed sticky across the bare skin of Castiel’s back. 

Then he changes angles, lifting Castiel to fuck into him properly, and Castiel sobs into the junction between Dean’s neck and shoulders, sweaty and shaking for it. 

‘Dean, feel so good, Dean!’

‘Shut up, Cas.’

‘You’re toppy — oh!’ The next three thrusts each hit Castiel’s prostate with startling clarity, and blinding white pleasure floods his vision, as if he’s staring directly into the sun.

He is, actually, and as the black spots fill his sight Castiel hides his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, only seeing the dark and using the rough side of his tongue to taste Dean’s sweat. It’s not hot, or masculine, or anything apart from bitter and gross, but he’s just as sweaty, so it’s okay, and Castiel can’t describe how it feels to not know anything apart from getting speared on Dean’s cock. 

‘So good for me,’ Dean grinds out. ‘So easy for me, Cas, like any two-dollar whore, but you’re mine.’ _Mine_ is accompanied by a forceful thrust and Castiel grips his fingers into Dean’s strong mid-back like he’s holding onto a rope.

‘Yeah, I’m yours,’ Castiel says, no reason to play coy because they both know his answer. ‘Are you mine?’

‘What d’you think?’ 

‘That isn’t an answer, Dean.’ 

Dean gasps out, thrusts sloppier, arms trembling under Castiel’s weight, solid iron behind his pretty face. He’s reaching his climax now, and Castiel isn’t far behind, his dick pulsing angry red trapped between their stomachs. 

‘Oh, fuck, yes, Cas, I’m yours.’

‘Good boy,’ Castiel growls, and that does it. With a final thrust, Dean comes, his name on those pretty lips, into Castiel.

He fucks into him through it, hands sliding down to Castiel’s ass, tracing the stretched rim and trailing down his taint, fingers skimming his balls, up to his hard, aching cock. 

‘Cas, darlin’, wanna come?’

‘Touch me right now, or as God is my witness, Winchester, you shall not live to see tomorrow mornin — agh!’ His threat is ruined by his gargled cry as Dean finally, blessedly grabs his dick. 

‘Come on, Castiel,’ Dean whispers, arms shaking by now, Castiel sobbing into his shoulder, ‘come for me, baby.’

But it’s only when Castiel smashes their mouths together again that he comes. 

‘Dean, Dean, Dea — ah!’ 

Dean strokes him through it. It’s much too much, too much sweat, too much skin and his cock is sore but he wants it, loves it.

‘Oh, God,’ Castiel groans, and on Dean’s last stroke he bites down on Dean’s shoulder, hard enough that he's just a touch away from breaking skin. 

‘Cas!’ Dean cries out. But he doesn’t pull away, only fucks his softening cock into him one last time before pulling out, stroking Castiel past pleasure into pain, and he cries as Dean’s hand moves sandpaper-rough over his dick.

‘Too much,’ he gasps, ‘Dean, stop it.’ 

He does, setting Castiel back on Baby’s hood and falling half against him, half against Baby. Sticky, they’re so sticky, and Castiel is unable to move, smothered under Dean’s weight. But his limbs feel shaky anyway.

There’s nothing else for it; Castiel lies back on the Impala fully. 

It’s hot, too hot, and it’s downright uncomfortable. His ass feels sore as does his cock, and the car is boiling because it’s black and they’re in Oklahoma in July, but he doesn’t want to move. 

They stay like this, draped over Dean’s car, at serious risk of heatstroke and indecently exposed, for some time. The sun is yellow-white in the arid blue sky, and one truck rumbles past but they aren’t disturbed. 

We’re missing this back in California, Castiel thinks. We’ve got the heat, but you couldn’t do this back home. And I never knew how much I missed this sort of solace, just me and Dean and the midges and the heat and all this road, and sky.

‘This sucks,’ Dean complains finally, getting off Castiel with lazy reluctance.

‘I don’t mind it. It’s peaceful.’

'…Yeah, okay, what is this? The Manson Family 2.0?’ 

‘Shut up, Dean. Don’t you feel it? The … calm?’

Silence, apart from Dean’s breathing. Castiel maps the rise and fall of his chest like it’s part of the natural topography because it is, Dean is. With eyes like that, big and green and long-lashed, you’re part of anything you want to be part of, Castiel muses. 

‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

Blue sky, long road, shiny black car, hot dry air. Vultures squawking in the distance, the heat oppressive and choking, Dean’s smile wide and freeing in the midst of it all. There’s no one else for miles, and Castiel thinks that he would be okay if it was always like this, just him and Dean, the rest of the world dying its second death in fire and brimstone. 

‘You feel really gross?’ Dean asks.

‘Terrible,’ Castiel says. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you more,’ Dean says. ‘Wanna start heading for Carthage?’

‘How could I say no to you?’

Dean rolls his eyes, but his smile is clear and wonderfully bright.

As they drive off, Iron Maiden playing, both still disgusting and stinking of onions, Castiel thinks of the road, and of the next grimy motel they’ll be staying in, and more diner meatloaf, and finally washing his clothes, and getting to see Meg and Balthazar and Gabriel again, and back home in California. 

But most of all, he thinks of here, and the great sex, and then the moment of stillness with Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! kudos and comments are always very very appreciated <3


End file.
